Not The Heart One Would Expect
by Xin0Lan
Summary: Sherlock does not have a heart. He is cold and stoic- expressionless and without the capability of showing emotion-at least that is what everyone saw. If only they could 'Observe' and not just 'See' things. Even his music reflects his lack of heart, right? Torturing that poor violin at all hours, but is that always the case? No slash or vulgarity.
1. A Blessing or a Curse- Part I

**CREDIT BELONGS WHERE CREDIT IS DUE**

_A-N: Comments are always appreciated, even if it is just a few words. They encourage me. I am classical musician so whenever Sherlock plays the violin on screen I feel more drawn to the character. The actor took lessons before the filming started and because of that I respect him so much more. It is quite difficult to learn this beautiful instrument though hardly impossible. Sir Doyle does mention Sherlock's passion for the violin frequently in his numerous novels and it is fitting Moffat/Gatiss have included scenes of Sherlock playing._

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**A Blessing or A Curse?**

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Music is what feelings must sound like. I am above my emotions; my emotions do not rule my consciousness. If I allow myself emotions free range then I would be no better than the blokes milling around London off on their own personal affairs. Caring is not an advantage, it never was and never will be. All it will bring is heartache, sorrow and enough tears that could not produce any more. A heart's sole purpose is to mediate the exchange of blood and oxygen throughout the body, nothing more and nothing less. So why does the heart cry out in anguish at times? I did not understand until I played my first note on my violin.

I sought solace in my music. I chose the violin after I heard passed by a small quartet rehearsing outside on the streets. The violin was the most elegant sound I'd ever heard. From that moment on, I begged and pleaded until my Mother and Father bought me a Stradivarius. I would never admit to this, but I am eternally grateful for their gift. The violin and bow were very expensive, but rightly so. Stradivarius instruments are next to non-existent. This violin was varnished in deep roan colour; it almost looked red at times when the sunlight beamed on it correctly. As for the bow, it also was a masterpiece. The bow had the whitest horsehair ever possible, and inside the frog was nestled a glimmering piece of shell. It never ceases to amaze me how beautiful this instrument is.

This violin was varnished in deep roan colour; it almost looked red at times when the sunlight beamed on it correctly. As for the bow, it also was a masterpiece. The bow had the whitest horsehair ever possible, and inside the frog was nestled a glimmering piece of shell. It never ceases to amaze me how beautiful this instrument is. With this beautiful woodwork at my side constantly I took lessons from a well-known master of the various stringed instruments and learned quickly. He taught me how to let my emotions run through my music. If I had learned nothing else from my countless years with him it was this one fact: _Music is what feelings sound like. Music needs emotion or it is nothing more that noise in the background of life. _

Now as I have moved on and many changes had happened, the one thing to have kept me from going insane was my violin. If I didn't have my music then I would have been on the streets living in the Tube at night and scraping around for a meagre existence or had died by the hands of the many enemies I made- honestly unintentional most of the time.

When my parents passed away each in their respective time, I played for days constantly, ignoring that my fingers were bleeding from pressing on the strings or that my right arm had started to ache from holding the bow. That pain seemed superficial compared to what I felt. First my father whose health had failed him at last, then my mother's, I thought sorrow would have been more bearable in my mother's time since I knew what it felt like with my father's. It was hardly the case at all! _Why!?_ I had beaten that question to no end. A void I know that will never be able to fill again, I loved my parents. Yes, I have a heart, a loving heart. I know my parents loved me even though I never once heard the word 'love' or 'affection' come from their speech. They had an unusual way of showing affection, it was through tangible objects- my violin. I played every slow piece I had ever learnt. The Requiem seemed to help soothe my heartache the most. _"He's writing sad music. Doesn't eat, barely talks, only to correct the television. I'd say he was heart-broken, but, well he's Sherlock. He does all that anyway." _


	2. A Blessing or a Curse- Part II

**A-N: Here's the second half. I cut it into two parts because it turned out to be so long. Enjoy!**

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Mycroft had become cold and distant. His laughter change into a cold and heartless one and he barely smiled. A small curve would form on his lips, but even then it was forced and used as a last resort when discussing diplomacy. His way of coping through the great loss, I believe. He wanted nothing of those memories, neither did I. He was never one for much emotion anyway. Father and he were close, always talking about the political aspects whilst Mother and I would visit the library and read books on all sorts of subjects. She encouraged me to read as it kept a fist out of my face most of the time and my mouth shut. I couldn't stand politics; I knew I would never match up to their level. We as the Holmes lineage were raise not to show emotion. It was the downfall of the human race. It would hinder our way as we carried on in life. Mycroft was successful and held a high position in the government because he learned to become detached to the world. Faking sentiment for political gains soon became second nature to my dear brother. How I wish he would drop the shield and let me in, just like when we were children. Though we were raised to behave as adult since the day we were born, Mycroft and I would find time to act as children should. To have fun. To play and roll around in the dirt. To not wear a suit in our every waking moment. For once just to have on a simple shirt and trousers on, those were the best of times.

Music is what feelings must sound like. I am above my emotions; my emotions do not rule my consciousness. If I allow myself emotions free range then I would be no better than the blokes milling around London off on their own personal affairs. Caring is not an advantage, it never was and never will be. All it will bring is heartache, sorrow and enough tears that could not produce any more. The only one power to dispute that fact would be Music. My Violin. My Heart. Through the power of music I could let my emotions run freely. John once said that to hear me play was to hear my heart, my essence, not just my mind speak. I believe it is so. I dare not show sentiment for that is a sign of weakness. I would be thought of anything except weak.

Though it is a curse most of the time, these emotions I have come to understand that us as mere humans have receive this blessed curse: Feelings. A blessed curse so strong even _I_ cannot fight it at times. My violin is the one thing in life that has remained faithful to me before I met John. Now I have John and my violin. The two things I treasure the most. I have the utmost confidence John will not desert me.

The thing is, without my violin, I would be just as the world saw me a man without a heart. Merely just A Freak, A Psychopath, The Weirdo, The Machine...basically a man cold and distant from the world. I have a literal heart which keeps me alive, but to keep my figurative heart living I need music. Just as blood is to life so it is the same with music.

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_A-N: Thank you for reading. It was a bit of a ramble. _


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